


Trapped in an Elevator

by my_dearest_comma_magnus_bane



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, But with a happy ending, Claustrophobia, Enemies to Friends, Idk i'm bad at tagging, Light Angst, M/M, Trapped In Elevator, to something more??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-31 02:19:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8559517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_dearest_comma_magnus_bane/pseuds/my_dearest_comma_magnus_bane
Summary: Title says it all. 
(Or, spending some time in an elevator can change a whole lot between two people)





	

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER:  
> I do not own these characters, they belong to Lin-Manuel Miranda
> 
> Also, hi! This is my first fic, and my first time posting on Ao3, so stuff might not be perfect :)
> 
> Enjoy!

His day hadn’t really been terrible up to this point, Alexander muses. He’s caught up on his work, the coffee in the break room had been surprisingly decent, and no one had come barging into his office complaining about a strongly opinionated piece he had published. All he has to do was deliver some paperwork to Washington for him to sign, and he’s technically free to go home. Not that he would, obviously, Alex could always find something else that needed to be done- another article to edit, another document to tweak, another draft to compose. Overall, though, it hadn’t been a bad day so far, Alex thinks, walking down the hall with a stack of papers in his arms. He starts humming contentedly to himself. Actually, it had been a pretty  **good** day, come to think of it. Quite a good day.

That sentiment is completely thrown out the window when Alex reaches the elevator bay. He presses the up button and is about to walk into the open doors of one of the elevator cars when all of a sudden, a flash of magenta fabric brushes past him into the elevator, causing him to lose his balance. Alex trips, the stack of papers he had been carrying scattering all over the floor of the car. He bends over to pick them up, scowling. “Thanks for that, Jefferson.” he grumbles. He looks up to glare at the other man, only to see an infuriating smirk on his face. 

“Sorry Hamilton, it was an accident.”Jefferson says sarcastically, leaning back lazily against the metal wall. Alex says nothing, brushing off his suit jacket and jabbing the ‘Floor 7’ button with slightly more force than needed.

There really isn’t such thing as arch-enemies in the 21st century, but Alexander Hamilton and Thomas Jefferson are probably as close as it gets. They take opposite stances on practically every issue, from politics to the economy to what flavour of ice cream is best. They are constantly competing over anything and everything, and more than once Washington has had a stern conversation with them about ‘cooperation in the workplace’. As if a few reprimands can get oil and water to mix. Needless to say, it’s never worked. 

The elevator seems even slower than usual today. Alex impatiently taps his foot and tries to ignore Jefferson’s presence as the numbers creep upwards. 2...3...4...5… As they near his floor, Alex moves towards the door. He can feel Jefferson’s eyes on the back of his head, and he thinks about how he can’t wait to leave the other man’s presence, preferably forever. 

That’s the last thing to run through Alexander's mind before the the lights in the car flicker once, twice, and the car is plunged into complete darkness. 

Alex instinctively lets out a shriek while Jefferson swears loudly in an oddly high-pitched voice. A few seconds later, the emergency lights kick in, bathing the car in a dim white glow. 

“Is the power… Are we… I think…” Alex trails off, taking in their situation. Jefferson presses the open door button multiple times, then all of the floor buttons. 

“I think that we might be stuck, Hamilton.”

Alex rolls his eyes, though he doubts Jefferson can see in the low light. “Genius observation. Since you’re so smart, maybe you could try pressing the call button, the one button that might actually  _ useful _ in this situation?”

“Fine.” Jefferson sighs loudly and presses the lit emergency call button. Alex puts his papers down and starts pacing back and forth in the tiny room.

“Stop it.” Jefferson hisses. “There's not enough room for pacing in here.” 

Alex hates to admit it, but he’s right. The car is barely six feet wide, and the one mirrored wall does little to ease the feeling that they’re trapped in a metal box suspended in the air-which, Alex supposes with a grim smile, they technically are.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” A crackling voice comes through the speaker.

“Yeah,” Jefferson replies. “It’s Thomas Jefferson and, uh, me and Mr. Hamilton are stuck in elevator number…”

“3.” Alex supplies. “And we're between floors 5 and 6, or at least that's where we were when we stopped.”

Jefferson glares at him. “I was talking.” He clears his throat. “Anyways, is there any way you could get us out of here? Like, soon, preferably?”

There's a pause, then the voice comes back. “I’m very sorry Mr. Jefferson, but it might take some time. The power is out in all the buildings on the block, and until we get it back it wouldn’t be safe to attempt to get you out. We’re doing everything we can, but I would expect… somewhere in the area of 6:30.”

Jefferson’s jaw drops, and Alexander lets out a groan. “You’re kidding, right?” Jefferson cries. “There is no way I am spending,” he checks his expensive looking watch, “two and a half hours in this tiny-”

Alexander cuts him off. “You’re mad? I was having a perfectly fine day until  **you** happened to show up.”

“Why, you little-”

The speaker crackles loudly, and they both pause. “We’re truly very sorry, gentlemen, but just remember to stay calm and you’ll be out before you know it!” The voice chirps. Jefferson roll his eyes and angrily presses the button again, ending the call. 

“Stay calm. Well, that’s easy for her to say, she’s not trapped in a goddamn elevator.” His voice sounds strained, and he begins to pace about as Alex did earlier. “Two and a half hours… Jesus Christ.” he says under his breath.

“There’s not enough room for pacing in here,” Alex mocks Jefferson’s earlier comment.

“Shut up, Hamilton, unless you want me to-”

“Woah.” Alex holds up his hands in a peace gesture, like he’s trying to calm a distressed animal. “I feel like the only way we’ll be able to get through this without ripping out each others’ throats is to just… pretend the other person doesn’t exist.”

“So just utterly and completely ignore you? Gladly.” Jefferson quips, although it seems to lack his usual venom.

“Basically. You stay on that side, I stay on this side, and we just wait until someone comes and gets us the hell out of here.”

“Fine.” Jefferson pulls out his phone, puts his headphones in, and sits down against the wall. Alex cautiously does the same. He’s relieved to see there’s still cell service, as he received a text from John a minute ago:

> ~john~: where are u? i heard theres a power outage downtown
> 
> A.Ham: you won’t believe this but
> 
> A.Ham: i’m trapped in an elevator
> 
> A.Ham: with tjeffs 
> 
> ~john~: oh my gOD
> 
> ~john~: are you fcking with me 
> 
> A.Ham: unfortunately, no
> 
> A.Ham: the lady said we’ll be in here until like 6:30
> 
> ~john~: how will you 2 not kill each other tho 
> 
> A.Ham: right now we are just sitting on opposite walls not talking to each other
> 
> ~john~: neither of u are talking???
> 
> ~john~: thats a first
> 
> A.Ham: shut up
> 
> ~john~: >:-)
> 
> A.Ham: >:-(
> 
> ~john~: im ur friend im allowed to insult u 
> 
> A.Ham: tru tru
> 
> A.Ham: ughh what am i going to do
> 
> ~john~:idk but i gtg sry hopefully you dont die 
> 
> A.Ham: what no don’t leave me
> 
> ~john~: talk to someone else
> 
> A.Ham: everyone else is at workkkkkk
> 
> ~john~: oh right 
> 
> ~john~: well i actually gtg so bye
> 
> A.Ham: bye

 

Alex pauses the game he’s playing on his phone to check the time, then sighs. How have only 20 minutes gone by? He looks across the car at Jefferson, and is surprised by what he sees. The man is still listening to music, his head tilted back against the wall, and his eyes closed. At a first glance, he looks relaxed, his usual laid-back self. But over the years, Alexander has come up with quite a knack for being able to analyse people. Jefferson is the only other person in this silent, tiny room, and Alex tells himself that’s why his eyes linger, taking in the signs that show the other man is not as calm as he exudes himself to be. 

His eyes aren’t just closed, they’re squeezed shut. His shoulders are tense, and occasionally his hands will form tight fists. Alex can’t be certain, but it sounds as though Jefferson’s breathing is shallow and irregular, not the slow deep breaths as if he was truly relaxed.

_ He almost looks… nervous.  _ Alex thinks.

“You’re not doing a very good job of ‘pretending I don’t exist’, staring at me like that.” Jefferson’s voice startles him, and he realises that he had been leaning forward. Sitting back against the wall, Alex notices that even that statement seemed to lack the contempt and scorn that would have usually punctuated it. He has no idea what makes him do it, but he decides to take a chance:

“Are you alright?”

“What?”

“I said are you alright.”

“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be.”

“Jefferso-”

“I said I’m  **fine** .” Jefferson averts his gaze. Alex thinks for a moment.

“Well, your body language says otherwise.”

“What?” This catches Jefferson’s attention. 

“Your eyes were just squeezed closed, your knuckles were white, your shoulders were tense and raised. Your knees were up and your upper body was hunched, which means you probably felt the need to protect yourself. Your breathing sounded shallow and uneven, and I'm assuming…” Alex moves purposefully towards Jefferson’s side of the elevator, lifts the other man’s wrist, and presses it with two fingers. “Yup- elevated pulse. If I had to diagnose,  I would say that you’re anxious about something.”

Jefferson stares at Alex, incredulous. He shakes Alex's hand off his wrist, then rolls his eyes. “Show off.”

“So I was right.”

Jefferson sighs, avoiding looking at Alex. “I just… I don't like small spaces. Never have. I don't know. It's no big deal.”  There's an uncomfortable pause, then Alex pipes up.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” he says quietly, sitting down a few feet away from Jefferson. 

Jefferson's eyes widen, and he looks a little shocked. “Uh, maybe being stuck in here has screwed up your brains, but you hate me, remember?” 

“I do!” Alex protests, “But if you go mad from claustrophobia, who’s going to eternally piss me off, or put offensive sticky notes on my desk, or have heated debates with me in shady cafes at one in the morning?” 

Jefferson snickers. “I remember that. I’m pretty sure the guy at the next table thought we were insane.” Alex thinks he catches a glimpse of a smile, but it’s gone before he can tell for sure. 

“To answer your question, though,” Jefferson says softly, “Music helps sometimes. And, uh, just sort of talking about other stuff, to get my mind off it.” 

“Talking? I think I can help with that.” Alex says with a grin. 

Jefferson sighs deeply. “Great. I just  _ invited  _ Alexander Hamilton to start talking. We’re gonna be here for a lot longer than two hours.”

“Your mistake. Anyways, what do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know. Whatever.”

“A real conversation starter, Jefferson.”

He glares at Alex. “Excuse me, I’m sort of trying not to have a panic attack here, I apologize if my conversational skills aren’t at their finest.”

“Oh. Uh, Sorry.” Alex looks around the elevator, as if trying to coax a topic out of the mirrored walls. His gaze lands on Jefferson’s phone, headphones still plugged in. 

“What music were you listening to?” 

“Really? All the things to discuss and you want to talk about my taste in music?”

“I’m just trying to help.” Alex says defensively.

Jefferson sighs. “I suppose.” He picks up his phone and shows the screen to Alex. “Mozart’s Violin Concerto No 3. Beautiful piece.”

Alex’s eyebrows raise. “Classical? I would have pinned you as more of a jazz sort of guy. Or, y’know, just a continuous loop of yourself talking, since you seem to love hearing that.”

“Shut up, Hamilton, we both know I’m not the narcissistic one here.” Jefferson says. “But. yeah, I’ve played violin ever since I was a kid and-”

“You play violin?” 

Jefferson nods, looking confused. “Yes…”

“Really? What? I’ve known you for like, three years, how did I not know this?” Alex stares at the other man.

Jefferson rolls his eyes. “I guess it never came up in our debates. But why are you so surprised that I play an instrument? Lots of people do.”

“I don’t know. I sort of assumed you spent your spare time, like, sharpening knives or yelling at children or something.”

Jefferson let out a short laugh, “Do you really think of me like that? Just because we don’t share beliefs doesn't automatically make me a Disney villain.”

“I don’t know, I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a coat made out of puppies.”

This gets a laugh out Jefferson. Alex notices that when he laughs, his face seems to light up. Jefferson looks like an entirely different person, not the infuriating, argumentative annoyance that Alex has come to know him as. This is someone different, someone Alex doubts many people have the chance to see.

_ You're staring,  _ says Alex's brain. 

_ Shut up,  _ he tells it. 

As Jefferson’s laughter dies down, Alex studies him once again, searching for the signs that had shown that how anxious he was. They are all but gone- breathing has slowed, shoulders are more relaxed, hands are no longer periodically clenching into fists. Alex feels something akin to relief wash over him, though he tells himself it’s just because he doesn’t want to have to deal with someone having a panic attack. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

Jefferson thinks for a moment, then answers, “Better, actually. I think just talking is helping.”

“We can, uh, keep talking if you want. If you think that might… continue to help.”

Jefferson looks at Alex strangely, as though he’s trying to get inside his mind and figure out why he’s being considerate and helpful towards a man he has outwardly hated for years. He seems to give up, shrugging elegantly. 

“Sure. We can talk some more.”

And talk they do. For the next two hours, they talk almost non-stop. They cover topics from immigration to space to pizza. Alex thinks that he learns more about Jefferson in two hours than he has in three years of knowing him, and realises the reverse is probably true as well. He tells things to Jefferson in those two hours- things about his past, his thoughts, his hopes and dreams- that he wouldn’t dream of saying  in any other time and place. Funny, Alex muses, how merely getting to know someone better can make your feelings towards them… shift. It’s not as though he suddenly agrees with everything Jefferson says, but now, at least, he can see him as a person, with faults and feelings and complexities. He can try to understand him, see where he’s coming from, instead treating him as merely an obstacle in his path. 

At 6:38, Alex and Jefferson are arguing about whether you could survive falling into a black hole when the lights in the elevator flicker back on. Both men cover their eyes, blinded by the sudden brightness. The emergency speaker crackles and a woman starts speaking.

“We’re so sorry that took so long, gentlemen, but the elevator should start working any minute now. How are you two holding up?”

“We’re fine. Uh... yeah. We’re good.” The relief is evident in Jefferson’s voice, as well as his motions. He stands up and composes himself- tightening his tie, brushing off his magenta suit, fixing his wild hair. Alex knows that any moment, Jefferson will assume his sarcastic, couldn’t-care-less demeanor, and any trace of the person underneath will be swept away as the elevator doors open. Alex wonders why he feels a twinge of sadness at the thought. 

“You won’t tell anyone about this, right? About my, uh, claustrophobia? And everything else that I said?” Jefferson’s quiet voice startles Alex out of his thoughts. He’s about to crack a joke about publishing it in the paper when he sees that Jefferson is serious. His brow is furrowed and his hands are clasped, as though he’s scared of the power Alex could now wield over him.

“Of course not. As long as you don’t talk about what I said, either, about my family and stuff.”

Jefferson lets out a breath he must have been holding and rewards Alex with one of his elusive smiles. Suddenly, the car whirs to life, sinks slowly to the ground floor, and the doors open with a pleasant ding. Standing outside are two firemen and an electrician, who immediately flock around the two, asking them questions and making sure they’re alright. Jefferson waves them off with an air of impatience, and Alex is grateful to follow behind him- all he really wants to do is get out of here. The men walk towards the exit, Alex almost having to jog to keep up with Jefferson’s long legs. Suddenly Jefferson stops and glares at Alex.

“Why are you following me, Hamilton? God, you’re such an annoyance sometimes” he says abruptly. It comes as a bit of a shock to Alex, how Jefferson had reverted back to his normal self in a matter of seconds. It takes him a moment to reply.

“We park in the same parking garage, remember? No need to freak out.”

Jefferson answers with his signature eye roll and sigh. They keep walking, until they reach the stairwell to the garage. At the bottom of the stairs, Jefferson is about to swing open the heavy door, when he pauses. Without looking at Alex, he says,

“I guess I should thank you. For... helping me, or whatever.” 

Alex is a little surprised- he half assumed that Jefferson would refuse to acknowledge what had happened in the elevator. “Oh. Uh, no problem,” he says. They stand there for an uncomfortable moment, Alex feels like he should say something else, but has no idea what. He searches his brain for possibilities- for different ways this could end, different paths he could take from this moment. 

For some inexplicable reason, his mouth decides to blurt out the most questionable  and riskiest option of them all.

“Do you wanna grab dinner?”

Jefferson slowly turns to face Alex, eyebrows raised. “Excuse me?”

_ Well, too late to back out now.  _ Alex thinks. He clears his throat.

“I said do you wanna grab dinner? I mean, we haven't eaten since lunch, it's almost seven, and…well, we never did decide whether you could survive in a black hole.”

Alex thinks he can almost see the cracks forming in Jefferson's mask, the barrier he puts up to separate his real self from the world. 

Jefferson stares at Alex intently, trying to figure out what's going on inside his head. 

“What do you say, Jefferson?” Alex prompts.

There's silence, then Jefferson says quietly, “I do have a first name, you know, it's not like we're in a debate right now where we have to be professional, I mean, only if you want to use it, it might just be weird I don't know I just sort of thought…” He trails off.

“What do you say, Thomas?” Alex says softly. 

And he watches the other man’s mask shatter, like a window hit by a sledgehammer, pieces falling away until  _ Secretary Jefferson  _ is gone and only  _ Thomas  _ remains. 

“I…That might be nice.” Jefferson-  _ no, Thomas,  _ Alex corrects himself, looks grateful and mildly surprised. “Where do you want to go?”

“I don't know, actually, I didn't think this far ahead.” Alex says with a smile. “Wherever you want, really, but nowhere too expensive, I'm not as rich as  **some** people,” he quips, shooting a pointed look in Thomas's direction. 

“Shut up, Hamilton.”

“I have a first name too.”

“Right. Alexander.” The name sounds strange coming from Thomas's lips, his slight southern drawl changing it just enough for it to seem like a completely new word to Alex. Or maybe it’s because he’s never heard Thomas say it like that- with warmth in his voice instead of thinly veiled disgust. Either way, Alex thinks, it’s something he could get used to.

“How about that pizza place that’s down a couple of blocks?” Thomas suggests. 

“Sure,” Alex says, “They make an amazing garlic loaf.” He puts his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his feet, looking anywhere but at Thomas. Alexander Hamilton, the man who can build empires with a few strokes of his pen, and make them crumble with a few more, is at a loss for words. How do you end a conversation like this, he wonders?

Luckily, he’s spared from having to find an answer to that question. Thomas clears his throat and says,

“We should probably get going. I mean, it’s getting late and it might take some time to get our food. Do you want to meet there?” 

“That sounds good.” Alex turns away and starts to walk towards his car. Before he can get very far, he’s stopped by a voice calling after him. 

“See you in a few minutes, Alexander.”

Alex feels a grin spread across his face. He knows he probably looks like an idiot, so he doesn’t turn around as he calls back,

“See you soon, Thomas.”

 

Alexander.

Thomas.

It’s funny how something as simple as being trapped in an elevator can change so much between two people, Alex thinks as he drives to the restaurant. The sun has gone down, and he squints against the glare of the bright city lights. Three hours ago, he entered an elevator with  _ Secretary Jefferson _ . Now, he’s about to go out for dinner with  _ Thomas _ . 

Dinner. Alex can’t help but let out a short laugh at that. He’s going out for dinner with Thomas ‘I despise you and everything you stand for’ Jefferson. His political rival, his competition, one could even say his enemy.  _ I must be out of my goddamn mind, _ Alex thinks. He almost turns the car around, ready to go home, drink some wine, and forget about this insane endeavour.

Then the other side of his brain kicks in, the side that you could call foolish and naive and hopelessly idealistic, but maybe it's the only side worth listening to. It floods Alex’s thoughts with images of Thomas in the elevator today- Thomas laughing at some stupid joke, Thomas’s eyes lighting up as he reminisces about Monticello, Thomas’s shaky smile as he works through his claustrophobia.

_ Maybe I’m not so crazy after all. _

As he parks in the lot of the pizza place, Alex sees a magenta BMW pull up a few spots down. Two words run through his head, one more time. 

_ Thomas. _

_ Alexander. _

He smiles, and steps out the car door.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea how any of the following things work, so please don’t take offense if I’ve screwed something up:  
> -Elevators/Getting stuck in them  
> -Power outages in big cities  
> -Claustrophobia
> 
> Hopefully you enjoyed, and your comments would be much appreciated!


End file.
